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I order my face to soften and blink the irritation away. “Like I was saying, I won’t stand for being treated like—”
“Like what? Like you can’t be trusted?”
I’m stuck trying to determine whether that’s a low blow or a justified point. While I consider the question, sounds escape my mouth hole that are the linguistic equivalent of a six-month-old’s babble.
I stop sputtering when his smirk slips into an outright cocky smile. He folds his frame back into his chair, brings his arms up, and folds his hands behind his head. The tattoos peeking out over his bulging biceps stop me short.
This man has officially rendered me speechless with only his sex appeal.
Well, that and also what I’ve concluded is a solid, logical point. I’m not to be trusted.
Certainly not by him.
Our gazes remain locked, his triumphant, while mine is probably closer to an inconsolable giraffe baby.
In my periphery, Tomer stares at us from his front-row seat. The tension zapping between Klein and me is probably hazardous to Tomer’s health at this distance. Like he’s in a blast zone or something. Probably needs a hazmat suit or PPE.
Seeing no way out, I soften my tone and reply, “All I know about that plan is that Big Al mentioned he’d want to make sure my skills were fresh so I could defend myself should the need arise.”
The clack of keys from over my shoulder signals that Tomer has grown weary of our show. Either that, or he’s typing a transcript to blast around the office.
Klein’s answering grin stabs me in the clit. “Did that hurt, Mia? Telling the truth? Looked a little painful from here.”
With that final dig, he swivels his chair and faces his workstation.
Once I return to my seat, I steady myself before facing Tomer. “Where were we?”
He stops working and takes his glasses off, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Let’s move on to my facial rec program. Maybe you can figure out how I can speed up the processing time.”
Without delay and devoid of emotion, he shifts seamlessly into training mode.
If he were any other person, he’d be demanding to know the history between Klein and me.
But thankfully, Tomer genuinely seems to not care. Either he has no bandwidth because he’s so overworked, or he really has no fucks to give.
Both are probably true.
For a moment, I envy him, wishing my cup of fucks was empty. It used to be, and it was easier to live with myself that way.
But I have fucks now. Too many fucks to give.
I want to make peace and for the people here to like me. I want some homeostasis in my life— balance, harmony, and all that bullshit.
I haven’t had any type of serenity for more than a decade. I miss it.
Is it wrong to crave comfort? To want people to see me as more than an asset or a liability? To be given grace when I fuck up and give it back in return?
If I wanted to live a cold life where I didn’t give two shits about what people thought about me or who I hurt, I’d still be at the company.
But I crave the tranquility of a balanced life— personal boundaries to protect myself, but not at the expense of hurting others.
No. I don’t really envy Tomer. Iwantto have fucks to give. And I want to be surrounded by people who give a fuck about me too.
The thing is… I don’t deserve it.
Chapter10
It wasn't whiskey dick
